Page 26 of Daddies' Holiday Toy

It doesn’t help that the wind rattling isn’t helping my case in the slightest.

The storm’s definitely gotten worse since I arrived.

I know he’s right, of course I do.

I’m not an idiot, contrary to how I may seem to them.

But the thought of spending even another moment stuck in this cabin with three practical Adonises makes me want to throw myself out into the snow just to cool off.

“Fine,” I mumble. “I guess I can make you guys dinner, at least. Since we’ve got some time to kill.”

Jack’s lips curve into a small smile, his eyes softening along with it.

More heat curls in my stomach. “Sure. Go ahead. We brought plenty of food, so use up whatever you want.”

I nod, retreating to the kitchen as quickly as I can without looking back over my shoulder at them.

Not that I need to since I can already feel their gazes following after me.

The kitchen is a reprieve, at least.

A little cooler than sitting by the fire, but it’s needed.

I peel off my hoodie and roll up my sleeves, trying to ignore the heat still staining my cheeks.

Around, there are the usual utensils one would find in a kitchen, a jar of spatulas and wood spoons, a knife set, cutting board tucked next to it, and cabinets filled with mugs, plates, and everything else.

I move over to the pantry first, pulling out a fresh box of pasta and set it down next to the stove. In one of the unpacked bags is fresh olive oil, some canned tomatoes that looked nice and ripe.

A few spice jars are lined along the back part of the stove and I grab those to look through them, finding a few still good.

When I turn to the stove to flip it on, voices from the living room, low and muffled, spill into the kitchen.

“…always pulling this shit,” Liam’s voice rumbles, sounding unmistakably heated.

Jack’s answer is quieter, harder to hear as I strain to make it out. “Not sure why he didn’t tell us she was up here. If she left coming down earlier, she could’ve died. We never would’ve known to look out for her.”

My hand stills, mid-reach for the burner.

Someone exhales hard.

I stand there frozen in place, not knowing what I should be doing.

The last thing I want to be doing was imposing like this.

Sure, the storm isn’t doing me any favors, but neither was falling asleep when I could’ve let the cold wake me up and start my journey back home.

By now, I would’ve been curled up on my own couch, nursing a hot cup of cocoa while my favorite Christmas movie played.

Blowing out a breath, I force my hand to turn on the burner and set down a clean pan.

My knife works automatically through the garlic cloves I manage to find in one of the other bags despite my mind continuing to circle back to the same point: I’m obviously cramping their boys’ weekend.

I don’t know why it bothers me so much, but then again when are feelings ever rational?

Hopefully by the time I get dinner set and served, the storm will have cleared up and I’ll be free to leave, putting all of this behind me.

And hopefully my dad isn’t too pissed when he finds out I’ve crashed his boys’ weekend before he gets here.